RIP Calvin kitty

Yesterday, I put down my fifteen year old cat. He was diabetic and went downhill quickly over the course of three days with what the vet believes was cancer (a definitive diagnosis would have required a biopsy, and he was too sick to have survived it). 

In looking through my computer files, the above picture was the only one I could find of him! I could have sworn I had a ton of him sleeping on various people and objects, but I think those images may have gone when my old computer crashed. 

Word to the wise people, if you have pets, take lots of pictures! And if you store them on your computer, back up often! 

I'm going to miss Calvin even though he was the meowingest, most demanding cat in the West, but, I gotta tell ya, no more pets for HRH - it's too hard when they die and, to quote an old buddy flick, I'm getting too old for this shit. RIP, Calvin.

Perspective

Are sensible shoes and "fun" socks too butch*? I don't know if you can see the picture very well, but the socks have pink hearts that clash gloriously with my red shoes. Clearly, I didn't expect the socks to show as much as they are.

Sitting at the bus stop I had time to reflect on my fashion choice, and I was suddenly flooded with the memory of an old supervisor who wore sensible shoes and "fun" socks. The fun never matched the outfit, either. She had socks for every holiday, too. I distinctly remember the Halloween socks (I guess I didn't drink those memory cells away after all). She was in her early forties at the time, and I used to think the socks were her way of expressing herself creatively, limited as it was. However, now that I am mere months away from 40 myself, I wonder if age isn't the culprit.  

I bought these socks on sale to use as athletic socks, but since it decided to rain early this morning I'm using them to keep warm since my cold-weather wardrobe is sparse. Even though I set my alarm early, I snoozed until the last minute and getting dressed this morning was an equally lackadaisical affair. Hence, the red top, red shoes, pink-hearted socks and orange Rumba watch I'm wearing.

Was Old Supervisor really dressing creatively or was she, like me, just putting on stuff that fulfilled the different categories needed to complete an outfit? Watch on wrist? Check! Shoes on feet? Check! Socks under shoes? Check! It's too late to find out now. Not that she's dead (as far as I know), but by the time I left that job neither of us was on each other's Christmas card list. And, anyway, that job was from last century. I might see if she's on Facebook (I seem to remember finding her on Friendster a million years ago), but it would be highly inappropriate to contact her now, especially for something as personal as wanting her to define her style. "Hi, remember me? You know, I've always wondered, what the hell was up with those damn socks!"

I think maybe I should just start laying out the next day's outfit before I go to bed at night.

*"Too butch" in the sense that I'm not going for that look and not in the sense that there's a line demarcating when butch becomes too, too much.